Don't **** With The Fairies

Seriously, just don't. Even the most skeptical of nonbelievers doesn't risk it (my professor's gran would often say "I don't believe in 'em, but I know they're there"). Any Irish citizen who doesn't know this one simple rule has either been thoroughly failed by their parents or was so awful that said parents believed even a Changeling would be easier to deal with.
But alas, I only lived in Ireland for four years, and am now back in the States, where none of these feckin' eejits know a goddamn thing about fairies.
Normally I adore Paddy's Day celebrations, but they're dimmed somewhat (ok, a lot) by retail work. I can't help but shudder in disgust every time I pass books and crafts dealing with "leprechaun traps." Like, do you want your kids to be curse by the sÃ*dhe? 'Cause this is how they get cursed by the sÃ*dhe.
Yes, I know, benevolent fae do exist, but there are rules you have to follow. The rules mostly boil down to being respectful and leaving them in peace - which, as an introvert, I find perfectly reasonable. And even though I'm pretty sure that the fae - both benevolent and not - are all found in Ireland and parts of the UK, I'm still respectful, even though there's an ocean between us.
I mean, I thought there was.
Friday nights and weekends in retail are less customer service and more maid service. I can't blame the kids 100% for their messes, 'cause the parents are the ones modeling the bad behavior. But really, y'all - it's not that hard to put something back where you found it. Do they not teach that **** in kindergarten anymore?
Usually I can grin and bear it, but these two entitled little brats, having been left unsupervised, decided to tear apart the toy section last night. Then, when asked by the very reasonable dad to clean up, just started shoving **** in random places until I finally asked them to leave it for me so I didn't have to track everything down.
And the mom laughed - ****ing laughed - and gave me a little wave and an insincere "sorry." Sure, Jan.
I had smoke coming out of my ears as I watched that bitch walk away. When she stopped to look at one of the many books about leprechaun traps, I found myself muttering "I wish the brownies would drag your ass for being a ****ing slob and that the leprechauns would be the ones to trap you."
Then I remembered that scene from Labyrinth where Sarah's similar utterance starts the main storyline of the movie and wondered if I had just royally ****ed up. I said a silent apology to any brownies and leprechauns who may have heard and kept cleaning. They must've heard my regrets, 'cause nothing happened to Mommy McBitchface.
Except when I clocked in for my midshift today, the weirdness had already started. The kids' section I had tidied up the night before to the exhausted standard of "good enough" was now pristine, even after having endured an hour and a half of children. I would've chalked it up to the morning crew going all-out, except the newest shelver was still having trouble with the concepts "left side" and "right side." I didn't have too long to think on it, though, because Mommy McBitchface and her minions showed up.
Normally I have to be passive-aggressive and nonconfrontational when customers pull their Karen acts, but I was all out of ****s to give that morning. So I put on my best customer service (read: "go **** yourself") smile and headed over to McBitchface for a chat.
"Hey there! Can I get you a basket for your shopping?"
****** scowled at me like I was dog**** gummed to her stilletos. "What? Why?"
"Well, if the girls want to look at as many toys as they did yesterday, it might be easier if they had somewhere to put them."
****** became Shrieky. "Are you accusing my angels of messing up the shelves?!"
You said it, lady, not me. "Not at all," I lied. "I just want to make things easier on everyone."
"How DARE you accuse my girls of misbehavior! They've never done a bad thing in their lives!"
I calmly pointed behind her. "Besides opening those dolls they haven't paid for?"
Shriekybitch whirled to see her two girls frozen in busted mortification, half-opened dolls in their hands. Rather than scold them, however, the mom did what all narcissists do when the truth doesn't fit their narrative: she took it out on the closest scapegoat. Which, as it so happened, was me.
Everything that happened next occurred within two heartbeats. The snapshot of the first thump had her screaming in rage and clawing at my face. In the silence between, I lurched backwards through the air, yanked out of her reach by some spectral hand, just as the shelf beside her gave an ominous creak.
The second beat sounded in time with the crash of wood and metal and the crunch of bone.
Everything after was a blur of screams and sirens and the inexorable creep of blood through the carpet. The clearest thing I remember is the single gold coin that rolled from beneath the shelf and bounced off my shoe. It was gone a blink later, as if it were just a trick of the eye.
Except I don't think it was. I think brownies really did come and tidy up for me, and I think the leprechauns dished out some vengeance. If that's true, does it mean I owe them something? Or did they do it because I still treat them with respect and follow their rules?
I've spent the last few hours in the ER running circles in my head with questions that only seem to be answered by more questions. The doctors say it's shock from the trauma, especially since the mom is in critical condition and there's no word yet on whether or not she'll survive. Everyone's been telling me not to blame myself, but I haven't been.
I've been wondering what the fairies are planning to do next.


Source.